


P.S. (If This Is Stanford)

by InsertCoolName



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Author Does Not Know How To Tag, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Songfic, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertCoolName/pseuds/InsertCoolName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>”Heyo, Gabriel Milton here. I won’t be picking up anytime soon - I’m out on Friday; need some damn strong fortification before the big holiday get together. My family…”</i> There was a breathy shiver that had Sam’s breath catching - he uses to make Gabriel make sounds like that. <i>”It’s fucking insane. So I’ll be gone and avoiding the phone all Saturday and most of Sunday. Try Sunday afternoon. Until then, you know what to do.”</i></p><p>Gabriel paused again.</p><p> <i>“P.S.: If this is Stanford, I still love you.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	P.S. (If This Is Stanford)

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing much to say about this. It's my first Supernatural and Sabriel fic, so there's that. This was inspired by a song called Austin, by Blake Shelton. Definitely worth a listen.
> 
> Other than that, no beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Kudos and comments are loved!

It was quarter to seven on December eighteenth in Lawrence, Kansas. The sky was already dark and Christmas lights decorated the sleepy town, twinkling against the dime-sized snowflakes that were falling thickly. Store windows displayed toys and various gifts, alluring customers with smiling snowmen and flying reindeer. The holiday season was almost always the same every year in Sam’s hometown - and Sam wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

It was quarter to five on December eighteenth in Stanford University, California. The sky still shone with the sun’s light as it made its way through the afternoon. Holiday lights were hung up on various buildings and all along the pathways of the university, although none were yet quite visible in the daylight. The warm, snow-free streets were bustling with holiday shoppers looking for something special for someone special. The holiday season was almost always the same every year in Sam’s… current home - and there were plenty of other ways he would have wanted it. But he would just have to deal this year, like he has for the past four years.

Sam stared out of the lone window of the tiny apartment he shared with his best friend absentmindedly, not really seeing anything in his sullen state. His computer lay hot in his lap, opened up to a paper that he didn’t actually need to be doing yet, but there was nothing else to do. Holiday break had started; Jessica and Brady were out of town until school started up again. It would, again, be just Sam and Cas.

One week to Christmas, and Sam was miserable.

 _Well,_ Sam thought dryly as the squeak of the front door alerted him to his roommate’s return, _misery loves company._ Cas called out a gravelly “Sam?” just as the younger man peaked out of the bedroom doorway to find one trench-coated Castiel Novak struggling to carry a bunch of full bags. Sam was quick to take a few bags before groceries were spilt everywhere.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted softly. He set the bags one the limited counter space in their closet-sized kitchen and promptly set to work with putting the food away. Cas fell into tandem with him, handing Sam various ingredients for what should end up as a decent college student’s Christmas dinner - at least, it would if either of them had ever been good at cooking.

“I picked up Chinese for us,” Cas said matter-of-factly, passing a glance over a carton of eggs before giving them to Sam. Sam nodded, not expecting him to say much more; Castiel Novak was a short-spoken and serious man. He said what he meant and that was it. The guy was a bit strange. He always seemed like he was in a rush, with his dishevelled appearance, yet always a step behind everyone. His social skills sometimes left things to be desired - then again, who was Sam to judge. But Cas was also crazy smart. And adorable. Sam would almost willingly admit that.

Sam glanced over at the older man, thankful that he would have someone to hang out with over Christmas. From what Sam could glean from his friend, Cas had an even worse familial situation than Sam did, leaving a holiday at home out of the question. They would probably just end up staying in on Christmas, getting drunk and eating whatever shitty meal they ended up making.

They finished putting away the groceries quickly and settled down in the crowded living room area to eat, Sam grabbing his computer again while Cas picked up a Latin edition of Utopia. Sam quickly lost interest in his paper and resigned to surfing the web, searching for nothing in particular.

It was going to be a quiet evening.

[___________]

It was seven thirty (Stanford time; nine thirty in Lawrence) when Castiel’s phone went off. Both Sam and Cas looked up in surprise; Sam was the only one who ever really called Cas. Sam shrugged when the older man sent him a speculative look and threw him his phone from where it had been sent on the coffee table. The older man’s expression changed when he looked at the caller I.D., looking both horrified and surprised.

“Who is it?” Sam asked, giving his friend his full attention. It took a lot to make Castiel look so worried.

“It’s Anna,” he replied, standing up quickly and leaving the room swiftly. Sam watched in confusion as Cas closed himself in the bedroom with a “Hello…?” into the receiver. Anna was Cas’ older sister. She hadn’t called him in years. Why call now?

Sam tried to ignore the soft murmuring coming from the bedroom, returning to his laptop, but it was nearly impossible. By the time Castiel was done with his call fifteen minutes had passed and Sam was itching with curiosity. No yelling had happened, thankfully, although Sam knew from experience that Cas could be pretty damn terrifying without raising his voice much.

But Cas seemed quite fine when he finally exited the bedroom; he had a dazed and thoughtful expression, and he was almost smiling.

“What happened?” Sam asked, sitting up to look at Cas. Cas’ almost smile grew slightly.

“It was Anna,” he repeated, sitting back down in his chair with his elbows propped on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back unsuccessfully. “She and Alfie called to wish me a happy holidays and invite me home for Christmas.” Finally the man did smile, looking tiredly pleased. Sam felt his heart sink a little.

“That’s… that’s great, Cas,” he said, fully meaning it despite the fact that he would now be alone for the holidays. “When do you head out?”

Cas looked up sharply. “I haven’t decided if I am going yet,” he deadpanned, causing Sam to frown.

“Why not?”

“You aren’t going anywhere, Sam. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Sam sighed. “Cas, man, you gotta go. This is your family we’re talking about. You--”

“Why don’t you try calling your brother, then?” Castiel interrupted. Sam gave him an incredulous look. “Surely he’ll forgive you for leaving, Sam. My siblings seemed to have. I’ll go if you have someplace to go. If not…”

“Dude, no.” Sam shook his head vehemently, his bangs flopping against his forehead. “You’ve never met my brother. He holds a grudge to the grave. He and dad were so pissed when I left. I just--no.”

Castiel did not look at all convinced. He settles Sam with a look that made him feel like he was more than ten years younger than the older man and moved to take his phone out again. “I’ll call back Anna and tell her that I’ll not be coming, then.”

“Cas, dude! Just stop, stop stop stop.” He tried to grab the phone out of his friends hand, almost falling onto the coffee table. “Okay,” he acquiesced, still reaching for the phone. “I’ll call him. I’ll call him, but no guarantees. You’re going to see your family, man. I can survive a holiday alone.”

“Good,” Cas stated, still looking slightly disappointed. “I am sure you will not need to, though.” Sam ignored him in favor of pulling out his phone and quickly flipping through his contacts before finding the name he was looking for. He glanced at Cas only to quickly look back at the phone when he received a truly unimpressed expression. He hesitated, then finally clicked the number for Dean Winchester.

_”I’m sorry, the number you are trying to call has been disconnected. Please--”_

Sam hung up.

“Disconnected,” he said quietly, and left the room.

[___________]

Again Sam found himself on his bed with the computer warming his lap, again staring out the window. The night had finally taken over, but lights were still on all over the campus. Everyone was probably packing before heading out.

Sam glanced at his phone, which had been thrown on the mattress as soon as he had stepped into the room. He didn’t want to admit to himself how much he had been hoping that Dean would answer, how much he wanted to go home.

It hurt that he couldn’t even call Dean.

It was Sam’s fault, though. He had never given Dean his new phone number after moving to California.

Before he realised what he was doing Sam was holding the phone and going through the contacts once more, looking for familiar names. John Winchester was at the top of the list under ‘Dad’ - he would know Dean’s number… but he probably wouldn’t give it to Sam. Bobby might’ve, but he lived in South Dakota and his landline was shit with long-distance calls. The old man probably hadn’t gotten a cell phone yet.

 _Gabriel Milton_.

Sam froze at the name, eyes locked on the pixelated letters. Memories began to swarm his mind, memories of caramel-colored eyes and a mischievous, thin-lipped smirk. He recalled days of a high school friendship, an unlikely one between the senior class clown and the nerdy little freshman, and how one summer turned it into something more. Late nights that had been for studying turned into nights meant for eachother, with heated kisses and promises whispered onto each other's skin.

Sam remembered the day he had left for Stanford, and how he had broken one of the many promises they had made, and the pain he had on that fateful day came back in a sudden wave of tenfold.

Sam closed his eyes, and tapped the call button next to the name.

The phone rang once.

Part of Sam wanted to hang up, to throw the phone away again and forget about the memories again. What’s past is past.

It rang a second time.

Another part of Sam desperately wished that Gabriel would answer, just so that he could hear that honeyed voice once more. Even if it was only to yell at Sam and hang up on him.

It rang a third time.

Sam held his breath.

_”Heyo, Gabriel Milton here.”_

“Gabriel--” Sam gasped, but Gabriel just continued talking right over him.

_”If you’re calling about the car, forget about it. It’s not for sale. My friend’s just an uncultured ass.”_

It… it was Gabriel’s voicemail message.

There was a yell in the background, none of it that Sam could understand, but definitely one that he recognised: Dean.

 _”Can it, Winchester. It’s a 1966 VW Beetle. No.”_ Gabriel cleared his throat. _”Anyway, if it’s Tuesday I’m out partying - happy birthday to the big asshole brother and all that shit. If this is a telemarketer, fuck off. I ain’t buying.”_

Sam couldn’t help but give a sad laugh at… everything. Gabriel had always been weird about his voicemail message. He had liked to re-record it every morning and basically tell everyone the reasons why he wasn’t answering - in this case, his older brother Michael Milton’s birthday. Sam had forgotten that it was on December eighteenth. And he had forgotten the VW. Gabriel had always wanted the old junker that sat in their high school teacher Chuck Shurley’s front yard. He had said he was going to make Dean fix it up for him and then he was going to stuff Sam’s “smoking hot gigantor ass” in the front seat and run off to Portugal to elope with him.

Sam had told him he was better off with a speedboat, considering they would be traveling across the Atlantic Ocean, but Gabriel had never cared.

“It doesn’t matter. All I really need is you.”

At least Gabriel had gotten the car.

 _”Anyone else, you know what to do.”_ There was another shout from Dean. _”Shut up, you ass. Oh - P.S._ ” Gabriel paused, and Sam found himself holding his breath. When Gabriel continued, all humor had left his voice, leaving him quiet, serious, and so very, very stricken.

_”If this is Stanford, I still love you.”_

Sam hung up before the end tone went off and actually threw his phone across the room.

He didn’t cry, but it was a close thing.

[___________]

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Cas?” Sam replied emptily, staring at the closed door with his legs tucked up and arms around his knees. Cas seemed to take that as an okay to enter. He shuffled over to Sam and awkwardly sat down on the bed next to him.

They sat in the silence for what felt like hours, although it was surely no more than five minutes. Finally Cas broke the stillness by putting a tentative arm around Sam’s shoulders.

“I called Anna and Alfie with the intention of declining their invitation,” he said slowly. Sam opened up his mouth to argue but quickly shut it as he again got _the look_ from Cas. “However, Anna insists that I come and that I bring you with me.”

“...What?”

“They’re heading up to South Dakota to meet with some cousins and a few of their friends. You could come with. And I understand that you’re family friend Bobby lives up there. You could stay with him if you wanted. My family can be… a bit much.” He glanced at Sam’s surprised face and added quickly, “But if you would rather stay here I would understand. I just--”

“No, I mean, yes. It’s okay, Cas.” Sam smiled weakly. “I’d love to go with you. But, are you sure?”

“Of course; you’re my best friend, Sam.” Cas cleared his throat, gave Sam a smile, then stood up to leave Sam in peace. “The drive takes about a day and a half, so we will be leaving on the twenty-second.”

Sam went back concentrating on not crying.

[___________]

Sam tried to forget about his phone call to Gabriel, and for three days, he almost did. He forgot about the ridiculous boy that had grown into the beautiful man that he had fallen in love with. He forgot about how he had broken said beautiful man’s heart and left him in Lawrence, Kansas because Sam was an asshole with grade-A anger management problems and even bigger daddy issues.

It had been four years since Sam had last spoken to Gabriel. Four years was one hell of a wait. He should have moved on and found someone better, not waited on such a screw-up.

On December twenty-first, Sam couldn’t forget anymore.

Everything was packed that night since Cas insisted on leaving bright and early. They would be driving to South Dakota in Cas’ peice-of-shit pimpmobile of a 1979 Lincoln Continental Mark V - Cas said Sam wasn’t allowed to complain since he did not yet have his own car - and they would arrive on the twenty-third. Sam planned on stopping at Bobby’s and letting Cas have time with his siblings.  
It was a purely conscience decision to pick up his phone and dial up Gabriel, one that Sam instantly regretted. It was nine forty-two P.M. in California - nearly midnight in Lawrence. But he let it ring. It did so three times.

When the answering machine picked up this time, it was only Gabriel. Sam was slightly disappointed, but just slightly.

 _”Heyo, Gabriel Milton here. I won’t be picking up anytime soon - I’m out on Friday; need some damn strong fortification before the big holiday get together. My family…”_ There was a breathy shiver that had Sam’s breath catching - he uses to make Gabriel make sounds like that. _”It’s fucking insane. So I’ll be gone and avoiding the phone all Saturday and most of Sunday. Try Sunday afternoon. Until then, you know what to do.”_

Gabriel paused again.

_“P.S.: If this is Stanford, I still love you.”_

This time, Sam let it go through the beep, and he just sat in the empty apartment for a few seconds (Cas was out filling up the pimpmobile) before stuttering out his phone number. Nothing else. He wasn’t even sure that he was understandable.

When Cas came back Sam hardly spoke a word to him. Sleep was almost impossible to obtain that night, and when sleep did claim him he dreamed of hurt, caramel-colored eyes.

[___________]

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong the next morning went wrong: Cas’ alarm clock had died, so they had woken up two hours late. The pimpmobile had somehow gotten a flat during the night and Cas had no idea what he was doing when it came to cars, so Sam had ended up having to change the tire and then change his clothes when he had gotten grease all over his shirt. Cas himself looked even worse for wear than he normally did, and that was saying something.

Finally they set out on the road with sloppy store-bought sandwiches for breakfast, Sam’s lanky frame cramped into the passenger seat and the bags all in the back. From the I-80 to the I-90, they took turns driving every ten hours, driving through the night. Traffic was absolutely awful, which slowed them down even more, and the farther north they headed the more snow they saw - both Cas and Sam were delighted by that - but it was a delay they felt they could afford. There was little conversation, but no one minded.

They crossed the Wyoming-South Dakota border at three thirty-two P.M. on December twenty-third, and arrived Pierre at six thirty. The goal was Sioux Falls by eight thirty, nine o’clock.

“You can drop me off in town when we get there,” Sam told Cas at yet another gas station that was somewhere between Pierre and Chamberlain. “Bobby lives a few miles outside; I’ll walk over to his place and say hi to him, and you can go see your family before you introduce your tall stranger to them” he said jokingly.

Cas only nodded in reply.

Sam really needed to find someway to drill a sense of humor into him.

[___________]

They arrived in Sioux Falls at eight twenty-seven.

Sam considered calling up Bobby, but decided against it. Bobby Singer’s place was always welcome for a Winchester. Besides, the old man probably needed more surprise in his life.

[___________]

The walk to Bobby’s place was an easy one for Sam. It was only four miles outside of town, so it took about an hour to get there.

It actually felt wonderful to step foot into the snowy junkyard, like coming home. Singer Salvage had been a large part of his childhood. He and Dean had played amongst the scrapped cars more times than he cared to count, and Bobby had acted as a second dad whenever John had run off.

Sam approached the old house with a smile, memories re-emerging from long-forgotten corners of his mind. He was brought out of his reverie, however, when something - a dog, obviously - barked at him from the side of the house. Curious, Sam went around the house until he was in the driveway. A huge bear of a Rottweiler was standing on the hood of Bobby’s beat up blue 1968 Ford F-350, barking and whining at him and wagging its tail tentatively.

The dog wasn’t what caught Sam’s eye, though.

Parked beside the truck was a car that Sam hadn’t seen in years.

“Rumsfeld! Rumsfeld, shut your trap!” Sam’s eyes shot up to the house when he heard the muffled yelling. _Bobby…!_ The kitchen window facing the driveway was opened, letting out steam from the warmth inside. “Rumsfeld! What the hell are you--”

Bobby cut himself off when he spotted Sam.

“...Sam?”

Before Sam could reply there was the sound of furniture being pushed across the floor. Before he knew it, Dean was also looking out of the window at Sam with wide green eyes.

“Sammy?” Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again. Sam smirked.

“Do you mind if I come in?” he asked dryly. “I’m kinda freezing my ass out here.”

“Holy shit!” Both Dean and Bobby disappeared from the window. Sam hefted his bag over his shoulder and turned for the front of the house. The door was swung open before he had even gotten to the top of the steps. Dean just stood there for a few moments before pulling Sam into the house.

“Holy _shit_ , Sammy,” Dean breathed, eyes still wide. “What the hell are you--how did you--”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Dean was roughly pushed over by Bobby as the old man grabbed onto Sam’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, muttering a gruff but loving “Hey, idgit.” Sam had no choice but to drop his bag and return it, and he did so with a smile and what might’ve been a few tears. When it ended he was quickly swept up into another one, this time from Dean.

Sam was sure there was tears in his eyes that time.

“Hi, Dean,” he whispered, clinging to his brother. Dean only held him tighter in the rare moment of unadulterated affection.

When Dean finally let go, it was to not-so-gently punch Sam in the shoulder. “You little bitch,” he growled, although he didn’t sound too torn up. “You should have fucking called. Four years, man. _Four_. _Fucking_. _Years_.”

“For the record, I tied,” Sam said, grimacing sheepishly as he cradled his shoulder. “Jerk. I _did_ try. I just… you changed your number.”

Dean shook his head and opened his mouth, but before he could speak Bobby interrupted him.

“Okay, okay, Dean. Let’s get Sam settled in. You can yell at him later.”

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded and leaned down to pick up Sam’s bag, only to throw it back at him. Sam caught it with a grin and followed his brother upstairs and into the double bedroom that they had used as kids.

Much to Sam’s happiness, it hadn’t changed at all.

“Get yourself settled in,” Dean ordered, wagging a finger at him like he was five years old again. “The you get your ass downstairs and tell me _everything_.”

“Yessir,” Sam said, arching an eyebrow. Dean switched from his index finger to his middle. Sam sat down on one of the beds. Before Dean closed the door, he called out. “Is Dad with you.”

Dean turned to look at Sam, eyes turning dark and, frankly, quite pissed off. “No, Sam,” he answered sadly. Sam nodded, and Dean left.

Sam’s phone rang almost as soon as the latch had clicked shut. Sam pulled it out of his pocket, expecting Cas’ number to show up, and almost dropped it when he realized that it was Gabriel’s.

_Shit._

Sam hadn’t expected Gabriel to call back at all. A phone call from an unknown number, no information given? It was suspicious as hell.

Sam answered if after the third ring, and then…

“Hello?”

_”Well, it’s like eleven o’clock at night, not Sunday afternoon, but I thought I’d try calling back. Can I ask who this is?”_

_Oh, god. Gabriel._

“Uhm…” Sam took a deep breath. “Gabriel, it’s--it’s Sam. Sam Winchester.”

Silence.

Sam swallowed. “...Gabriel?”

 _”Oh my god. Oh my_ fucking _god.”_ The was shuffling in the background, along with a muffled _“Are you alright?”_ from a woman’s voice. Sam’s heart sank.

“Was I--was I interrupting something? Maybe I should--”

 _”No. Don’t you_ dare _hang up on me, Samuel Winchester. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”_

Sam did as he was told and waited for Gabriel to speak. There was some yelling in the background and the slam of a few doors, and then a sigh came from the other end of the line. Sam opened his mouth up to speak, but nothing came out.

Again they fell into silence.

Finally:

_”Hey, kiddo.”_

Sam let out a broken sob. Suddenly the tears of joy that had made it down his face in his brother’s arms were doubled into tears of a more morose emotion, one that he had thought he had locked away four years ago as he walked away from something he never should have.

 _”Oh, Sam,”_ Gabriel murmured soothingly, although he sounded like he was on the brink of tears himself. _”Don’t cry, baby, please don’t cry.”_

“Oh god, Gabriel. I am so sorry.” Sam sniffled. He fucking _sniffled_. “I was such a child. I shouldn’t have just left like that. Not you.”

 _”Oh, Sam.”_ Gabriel made some soft shushing sounds. _”No, you shouldn’t have left like that. But you know what? I understand why you did. And I forgive you for it, Sam. I forgive you for it.”_

Sam cried silently as Gabriel just started talking about everything and nothing: the 1966 VW Beetle, which Gabriel had bought and fixed up with the help of Dean - Dean had posted it on Craigslist as a prank, which explained the record to Sam’s first call. Michael and Lucifer, who were still bitchy douchebags. Fenrir, his old Jack Russell Terrier that he’s had since high school. He just kept talking until Sam was able to calm down enough to do so himself.

“I love you, Gabriel,” he blurted out.

 _”I know,”_ ” Gabriel replied. Sam could hear the smile in his voice. _”I love you, too, Sam. Have since the day I met you.”_ Gabriel sighed shakily. _”Where are you, kiddo? You in Cali?”_

“No, I’m in South Dakota right now, at Bobby’s.”

 _”No fucking way,”_ Gabriel exclaimed. _”You’re in South Dakota? Shit.”_

“...Yes? Gabe, what’s--”

 _”Shut up, Samuel. Dammit.”_ A door squeaked in the background, and again there was shout. _”Anna, shut the hell up. I need to get out of here. No, Alfie, everything’s fine. I just gotta go. Damnit! Where are your fucking keys, Cas!”_

“Watch your language around Alfie!”

Wait. Cas?

“Gabriel? What’s going on?”

 _”I’m coming over, Stanford, and you better be there,”_ was the last thing Gabriel said before the call was ended.

Sam was down the stairs in record time.

[___________]

“Is Gabriel in Sioux Falls?”

“Jesus!” Dean jumped and hit his head on the kitchen table he was underneath. What he was doing underneath it, Sam had no idea nor did he want to know. Bobby looked mildly surprised himself, but he only sipped at his beer with a look of curiosity.

“Dean,” Sam implored, pulling his brother up straight and holding onto a shoulder to keep him balanced. “What is Gabriel doing in Sioux Falls?”

“Hold up, Sammy. I brought him with,” Dean explained. “His douchebag brothers kicked him out, so he’s been staying with me. I couldn’t just let him be alone. And he had family that wanted to see him. Cousins.”

Dean had hardly finished before Sam was bolting out the door, halfway between way too hopeful and terrified absolutely shitless. He ran past Rumsfeld and the Impala, through the labyrinth of rusted junkers and out onto the snow-covered road.

Sam felt like he should hold his breath, but he knew that wouldn’t be very smart.

Dean and Bobby wordlessly joined him a few minutes later, all of them standing in the middle of the road like a bunch of total idiots, but no one cared. Sam’s hazel eyes were glued to the road, and he was just praying for headlights.

Finally, his prayer was answered.

Sam laughed out loud when the tan 1979 Lincoln Continental Mark V came tearing down the road, followed by a cherry red 2006 Dodge Charger. The Lincoln skidded to a stop and the front door was thrown open to spill out one Gabriel Milton, wild-eyed and flustered. Sam was barely able to take three step forward before he was tacked into a hug by the one man he had promised to always be with.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Gabriel whispered, tangling a hand in Sam’s hair to pull him down for a searing kiss that Sam did not hesitate to return. The press of his once-lover’s lips against his own felt just as they had four years ago, as if it had instead been merely hours. It felt familiar, and more like home than even Lawrence, Kansas, would ever feel like.

Of course Cas had to go and ruin the moment.

“Gabriel? Sam--what?”

Sam and Gabriel broke apart, both gasping for breath and smiling like idiots. The caramel-colored eyes Sam had dreamed about for oh-so-long looked up at him with pure devotion and love before Gabriel turned around to face a confused Castiel. An equally-stumped redhead woman and an amused-looking blond kid were making their way from the Charger to stand next to Cas.

“Oh, good, you already know each other,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “That means no introductions. Come on, Sam.” He grabbed Sam by the wrist and started tugging him towards Bobby’s house, seeming to have completely forgotten about the still-running Lincoln in the middle of the road. Judging by his mad smile and blown pupils, he only had one thing in mind. “We have some catching up to do.”

Hell, Sam could get behind that.

“...Well,” Sam heard Dean mutter, “introductions would actually be kinda useful at this moment.”


End file.
